They had no sooner rejoined the two men than Alan jumped up, put a tape of dance music on the music stack and grabbed Dylan by the waist.
‘Come on, show me how to dance!’
‘Poor girl, don’t do it to her! You know you’ve got two left feet!’ his wife said, and he threw a grin at her.
‘It gives me an excuse to get my arms round her, doesn’t it?’ Alan pulled Dylan close and began shuffling around the room with her.
‘Hey, watch it! That’s my wife whose feet you’re treading on!’ Ross told him, but laughed as he watched. ‘You must be the worst-matched pair in the universe! It’s like watching a fairy dancing with a giant.’
Alan stood on Dylan’s feet again, and she couldn’t help giving a yelp of pain.
‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’ He let go of her and looked guiltily at her tiny feet in their soft leather shoes.
‘Not really, you just made me jump!’ she quickly reassured him, but was relieved when Alan sat down again.
‘I guess I’m just not cut out to be a dancer!’
‘You said it,’ his wife teased.
As they said goodnight Dylan told Alan and Suzy, ‘You must come to us next time—I’ll ring Suzy to work out when you’re free.’
Driving home, Ross said, ‘I’m glad you asked them back—I had a great time tonight, did you?’
‘It was a good evening. Suzy cooked us a marvellous meal, and Alan is darling.’ A pity Suzy constantly made fun of him, she thought. It must hurt his feelings and he was such a sweet guy. He clearly adored Suzy, too—but Dylan couldn’t quite decide how Suzy felt about Alan. She couldn’t imagine herself teasing Ross and making fun of him in front of other people. But she could imagine Ross’s reaction if she did it He wouldn’t stand for the sort of treatment Suzy dished out to Alan, and Dylan agreed with him. No wife should ever humiliate her husband in front of other people, or nag him—it had been embarrassing to watch it happening.
When Alan and Suzy came to dinner a couple of weeks later Dylan was worried in case something went wrong, but the evening went off well enough, except that there seemed to be even more tension between the other two. Suzy was as scratchy as an old record—she snapped at Alan every now and then—while he seemed edgy and was far quieter than he had been at his own home.
Ross talked to him about their work while the four of them drank an aperitif, then Dylan went into the kitchen to get the food ready, quite glad to get away from the uneasy atmosphere.
‘Can I help?’ offered Suzy, but Dylan refused the offer politely.
‘Thanks, but I can manage—you stay and talk to the men.’
Dylan served them grilled prawns with a home made mayonnaise to begin with, then cold poached salmon with salad followed by chocolate mousse she had made herself. The work had taken up most of her day, but she had enjoyed doing it.
‘That was mouthwatering,’ Alan said, eating a second helping of mousse. ‘Did you cook it all yourself?’
She nodded, and met Suzy’s wry eyes almost apologetically. ‘I’m new to cooking so I decided to try and do it all myself.’
But why was she apologising for not having bought the meal ready-made? It had been fun. Some days she went nowhere, did nothing, saw nobody—except Ross for a few minutes in the morning before he went to work and in the evening before she went to bed. Having to plan for the dinner party, do the shopping, prepare the food, had been new and stimulating.
‘Well, congratulations, you get a gold star,’ Suzy said with a faintly acid smile. ‘Aren’t you a lucky boy, Ross? She’s not only talented and beautiful, she can cook, too. How will you ever keep her?’
Ross’s face clouded over, and he was quiet for the rest of the evening. Dylan felt a spurt of dislike for Suzy—why had she said something so spiteful? How had she guessed that Ross wasn’t entirely sure about his marriage? Had Ross confided in her?
Dylan knew he wasn’t certain their marriage would work out—he was afraid she would tire of being married, be bored living right up here in the North, far from any town, let alone a city. He had said as much to her, several times, but she resented the very idea of him confiding his feelings to Suzy.
She didn’t say anything to him after the party, though. She was tired and a little depressed; the evening had been a let-down. She had wanted to make it a wonderful occasion, but Suzy and Alan’s subterranean squabble had made it uneasy, an evening balanced on a knife-edge.
She wished she liked Suzy better, but they didn’t have much in common, and Ross’s other colleagues all lived further away. She had no opportunity to meet any of their wives, and as there were no close neighbours she very rarely had anyone to talk to except the shopkeepers in the village.
There wasn’t that much to do around the house; she could finish her housework in a couple of hours each morning. But she enjoyed working in the garden more and more. A library van visited the area once a week, and Dylan was able to get out books on gardening, learn how to prune and plant, how to plan borders, work out colour schemes.
One morning Michael rang her, making her nerves skip as she recognised his voice. He didn’t waste time with polite preliminaries, just asked curtly, “Changed your mind yet?’
‘No, and I won’t, Michael. Please, accept it...’
‘Never,’ he said. ‘And I’ll never forgive you. You’re deliberately throwing your life away—why? All that talent and you’re burying it. It’s a sin against life.’
The phone slammed down and she jumped, her ear reverberating with the noise.
From around that time she began to feel very off-colour. She couldn’t think what was the matter with her. Her symptoms weren’t serious enough for her to go to the doctor, and they kept changing. One minute she had backache, the next she felt sick, then she had a headache. After half an hour gardening she suddenly felt dizzy, the world going round and round, and had to go indoors and lie down. All those little grumbling problems she kept to herself, because she didn’t want Ross to think she was a hypochondriac. Her health had always been so good. Was it loneliness and boredom that were making her ill?
‘Why don’t you join a club?’ suggested Ross.
‘The only one around here is the mothers’ club at the village church, and I don’t qualify.’
He laughed. ‘How about the golf club? I know Suzy’s a member. It’s only a couple of miles away. Have you ever played golf?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never really played any games—dancers are reluctant to risk injuring themselves, and playing games always seems to end in someone pulling a muscle or breaking a leg!’
‘I’d never thought of that, but it’s true—Alan is always doing himself an injury playing golf or football. He’s so clumsy. Suzy’s right.’
Dylan frowned. ‘Aren’t they happy, Ross?’
He looked surprised. ‘As far as I know. Oh, Suzy’s got a sharp tongue, but she’s fond of the old boy.’
‘He’s no older than you!’
‘You know what I mean.’
She wasn’t sure she did, but she dropped the subject. Ross seemed to like Suzy. Maybe she was imagining the tension between her and Alan? It was a pity she and Suzy didn’t get on—she could have done with a friend, someone to talk to about how she felt, the problems she had. She couldn’t talk to Ross; she was wary of letting him know what she was thinking and feeling.
The trouble was, she badly missed London and her old friends, and most of all, of course, she missed dancing. She did some ballet floor work every day, but it wasn’t the same on your own as working in a room full of others doing their exercises. Here, she had no barre to practise at, and no mirror in which to watch her reflection moving, make sure she was moving her body correctly, getting the right angles, making the right shapes.
In early July Ross looked up one Sunday morning and said, ‘Seen this?’ showing her the entertainments page of the paper he was reading. A large photo of Michael and a girl dominated the print.
‘What’s the story?’ Was i
t just that Michael had been seen out with that girl or...surely he hadn’t got engaged? Dylan averted her eyes from the fried egg and bacon Ross had insisted on cooking for them both. He would be hurt if she didn’t eat it.
‘He’s found another partner,’ Ross said with a distinct note of satisfaction in his voice.
‘You’re kidding?’ Dylan leaned forward to stare at the girl and caught the smell of the fried food, felt her gorge rise. Clutching her mouth, she fled from the table into the downstairs cloakroom where she was violently sick.
When she came slowly back to the kitchen, pale and shaky, Ross had cleared the table, thrown her cooked breakfast away, and was loading the dishwasher. Hearing her footsteps, he looked round, his eyes coldly flicking over her.
‘That much of a shock, was it?’
She looked blankly at him. ‘What?’
‘That he’s going to be dancing with someone else!’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Dylan said wearily. ‘I knew he would. I’m glad he’s found someone.’
‘Yes, I saw how glad you were!’ Ross bit out.
Dylan simply wasn’t well enough to argue with him. Wordlessly she took the Sunday paper from the kitchen table and went into the sitting room to lie down and read the story without Ross’s cold eyes on her.
Michael had been holding auditions for some weeks, seeing hundreds of girls, and had finally found a partner to take her place: a girl called Sasha Vienzini.
A faint smile curled Dylan’s mouth—that was never her real name! But then there had always been a tradition of ballet dancers taking foreign stage names, particularly Russian ones. English names hadn’t been considered exotic enough, although these days dancers chose more and more to use their real names, just as the choreographers and directors looked for more reality in the work they did. English ballet no longer felt it needed to apologise for not being Russian. It had struck out on its own and was a powerhouse of new ideas.
Dylan studied the girl’s background and previous career, then looked again at the photo and realised she had met her once or twice. Ballet was a small world, both nationally and internationally. Sasha Vienzini had already got something of a name.
While she was staring at the girl’s picture Ross came into the room and she looked up uncertainly at him. Was he still in that nasty mood?
‘She’s a dead ringer for you, isn’t she?’ he said in sardonic tones. ‘If he can’t have you, he’s obviously decided to have someone who looks like you.’
‘He picked her because she’s a brilliant dancer,’ Dylan told him. ‘I’ve seen her dance; she’s good. Better than good. And I’m sure she’ll interpret his choreography as well as I ever did. I hope their partnership is a terrific success.’
‘Is that why you were sick when you heard the news?’ he asked, and she dropped the newspaper on the floor, angrily aware that she was still very pale and a little shaky.
‘I’m just not well today. Nothing to do with Michael getting a new partner.’
‘Tomorrow you’d better go and see the doctor, then,’ Ross said unsympathetically. ‘Alan suggested we play golf today—are you coming along? You can sit in the clubhouse with the other wives who don’t play. Give you a chance to talk to them all. We could have lunch there afterwards. That would save you having to cook.’
‘I don’t feel well enough,’ she said. Suzy would be playing with the men, of course. No sitting around drinking cocktails with other women for Suzy! She was not keen on her own sex; she liked male company—preferably not that of her husband.
‘I see,’ Ross said curtly. ‘Maybe I should have lunch there, anyway. Then you won’t have to bother to make lunch for me.’
He turned on his heel and was gone before she could answer. She winced at the slam of the front door, but felt too ghastly to care much about Ross’s temper. The sickness wore off as the morning advanced. She got up, washed and changed, and began to prepare a salad to eat with cold chicken and rice flecked with peas, sweetcorn and red peppers.
Ross returned at half past twelve and found her mowing the lawn. ‘Why didn’t you wait for me to do that?’ He frowned.
‘I’ve finished now.’ She was flushed and perspiring; it was heavy work in hot sunlight.
‘I thought you weren’t feeling well?’
‘It wore off.’
‘As soon as I’d gone, I suppose?’
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, stop it, Ross! Why do you keep sniping at me? Are we going to end up like Suzy and Alan?’
His face changed. ‘I’m sorry, Dylan.’ He put an arm round her and kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘I’m still jealous of that ex-partner of yours, I suppose. The last thing I want to do is quarrel with you. Look, I’ll make some lunch for us—what would you like?’
‘It’s ready—just a cold meal. I hope you don’t mind but I wanted something very plain.’
‘That’s fine. Here, let me put the mower away and dump the grass cuttings. You go and lie down. We’ll eat in fifteen minutes, okay?’
After that, Dylan was afraid of mentioning Michael at all. How long would it take for Ross to forget his jealousy? She had married him, not Michael, had given up her whole life for him—how could he be jealous?
When he went to work on Monday morning he kissed the top of her head and reminded her, ‘You won’t forget to go and see the doctor, will you? I’m worried about you. You don’t look well.’
She was worried about herself, so she rang the local health centre, which served several villages in the area, and was given an appointment for that evening at five o’clock.
The woman doctor was young, a little harassed, but friendly. She examined Dylan, asked her a few questions, then looked at her with amusement.
‘Pretty obvious, isn’t it? You’re going to have a baby. You must have guessed!’
Dylan blushed. ‘I was beginning to wonder, but I’ve been taking the pill. We didn’t want to have a baby yet; we wanted to wait a year or two, get used to being married first.’
‘The best laid plans of mice and men,’ murmured Dr Easter, laughing.
‘Yes,’ Dylan agreed, smiling back. ‘When I kept feeling sick in the mornings, and missed a second period, obviously I did think... Are you sure, though?’
‘I can’t be certain until you’ve had a pregnancy test. Quite simple.’ Dr Easter gave her instructions. ‘We’ll soon know for certain.’
Ross rang to say he would be working late this evening. By the time he got home Dylan was in bed asleep and he didn’t wake her, he slept in the spare bedroom and left next morning at first light. She found a note from him on the kitchen table saying he might be a little late again that evening; they were very busy marking trees to be felled and planning a new plantation for the following autumn.
‘Give Suzy a ring and meet her for lunch or coffee,’ the note ended, but Dylan didn’t feel like seeing Suzy. That morning, early, she took her pregnancy test to the doctor’s surgery and was given the results later that day.
Smiling, Dr Easter told her, ‘You’re definitely pregnant. I hope you’re happy about that, even though it’s such a surprise?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Dylan confessed frankly. ‘I want children, but...oh, I’m feeling so ill, and I’m worried about coping with a baby.’
‘You can go to classes here at the health centre to show you how to cope, and the first months are the worst. Once you’re over the morning sickness you’ll feel better than you’ve felt for years. Have you told your husband you may be pregnant?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do you think he’ll be pleased?’ The doctor watched her closely, her face sympathetic.
Dylan was flushed and uncertain. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. He didn’t want to have children yet, but he wanted them some time...I’m not sure how he’ll react to the idea of starting a family so soon.’
‘You haven’t been married long, have you?’
Dylan shook her head. ‘Just a few months. We’re still ge
tting used to each other.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll find he’ll be very excited. Babies bring their own love with them, you know. If he wanted to start a family some time then he’ll quickly get used to the idea that some time is now! You’ll get used to the idea too, don’t worry. I can see you’re a little shaken, and it does take some getting used to—being pregnant causes a lot of changes to the body and in the beginning it can be difficult. The morning sickness will pass off quite soon, and then you’ll feel much better.’
Before Dylan left the doctor gave her advice on how to cope with the next few weeks and told her that the baby would arrive the following year, in late January.
‘Not the best time of year to have a baby, I’m afraid! Next time I should plan to have the baby in the spring—much easier. Too hot in summer, and too cold in winter.’
‘I haven’t got used to the idea of one baby, let alone others!’ Dylan protested, and as she drove off in the flower wagon tried to absorb the idea that she was pregnant—but it seemed unreal, unbelievable.
She looked down at her body—was there really a baby inside her? She didn’t look any different. Stopping at traffic lights which showed red, she put a hand down over her waist and abdomen—she was still slim, but for how much longer? The idea of ballooning was horrible. She had never been fat in her life. She was going to hate it.
She told Ross that evening when he got back, just after nightfall. He came over to kiss her. ‘Are you feeling better? Did you go to the doctor?’
She nodded shyly, finding it hard to break the news.
‘What did he say?’
She moistened her lips, swallowing. ‘Ross...well, Ross...w-we’re going to have a baby.’
He wasn’t visibly startled or shaken. He merely watched her with unrevealing, intent eyes and said calmly, ‘I wondered if that might be it. I talked to my sister on the phone the other day and when I said you’d been sick a couple of times lately and were pale and listless she immediately said you must be pregnant. How do you feel about it, Dylan?’
The Yuletide Child Page 6